


30 Vibrations per second

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: Gift Fic, alternative universe, cat!Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: A cat's purr can benefit your mental and physical health.A gift!fic for umbrafix's Cat!Morse 'verse





	30 Vibrations per second

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umbrafix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/gifts).



> I had always meant to finish this long ago, so this fic does end rather abruptly. I hope ya'll enjoy!

The coffee at work was bitter, always too strong, and tasted like it was filtered through a used condom. Thursday could not fathom why the younger men at the precinct preferred the coffee to taste like gasoline. Did they not know of the finer things in life? Thursday avoided the coffee as best as he could, choosing to either to drink tea or spend the extra quid to get the quality coffee down the street at the cafe'.

Morse knew of this, and yet he was also one of the savages who enjoyed the terrible precinct coffee. When asked why he liked it, he just shrugged and said, "It'll put hair on your chest."

Thursday had to bite his lip from making a sarcastic reply. He's seen Morse's chest, and that boy had more hair than him. He could also make a quip about Morse's cat form, that's he was a literal walking fur rug. In the end Thursday said neither, though he kept both jokes close to him, snickering at the thought.

Morse knew Thursday's adverse to the precinct coffee, and was surprised when he came in one morning and saw Thursday pouring himself a cup.

"I thought you hated the coffee here," Morse said, grabbing a clean mug.

"I do..." Thursday muttered. "Need it though..."

At the sound of his tired, slow voice, Morse took a better look a him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's Sam... he caught the flu. He's been sick the past two days. He's so miserable, he can't sleep. Win and I have been up with him these past nights."

"Joan can't do it?"

"No, we won't let her. When she was a kid she got a virus in her lungs, really messed them up. If she catches the flu, it'll be hell for her. Right now she's been staying with friends."

"Hmmm... Well, I don't have work tomorrow. Do you want me to stay up with him?"

"Oh no, Morse, I won't inconvenience you-"

"Sam's my friend. I be happy to."

Thursday couldn't bring himself to say no. He was exhausted, Win was exhausted. Both of them needed sleep but he didn't want Sam to be left alone, suffering all night. "Yes, alright. Come to the house around seven."

 

 

 

 

At 6:45, the door bell rang. Thursday opened it and groaned. "Aw hell, Morse, I forgot about you."

"Good evening," Morse said. "Did something happen?"

"No, I... come in, then. Get out of the cold."

Once the door was closed, Thursday said, "The doctor just left. Sam's fever got worse. If it doesn't break tonight, he might have to go to the hospital tomorrow."

"I didn't realize it got so bad."

"You should probably go home. Win and I-"

"Need sleep." Morse pushed past and walked up the stairs. "If you do need to bring Sam in tomorrow, it'll be best if you're both rested."

Once again Thursday couldn't argue. He was on his last legs, and he didn't want to think what could happen: falling asleep at the wheel, killing them all.

"You'll wake me if something happens?"

"Of course."

 

 

 

 

As much as Thursday needed sleep, he mostly half-dozed, barely drifting off before a random fitful thought had him waking again. He was too worried about Sam, feeling like he just abandoned his son. Thursday trusted Morse, knew the young man would do him no wrong, but this wasn't his job. Thursday should be the one in Sam's room, watching over his boy.

Finally around one in the morning, Thursday pushed himself out of bed.

Win was asleep, thank goodness. At least one of them were getting their rest.

He slipped on a bathrobe and shuffled out into the hall, yawning. He'll check up on Morse and Sam, then go make coffee. Offer Morse a cup if he wanted.

Thursday got to Sam's room. He stopped.

Sam was awake. He was sitting up in bed, his pillows propped up behind him. There were thick black bags under his eyes. His hair, usually kept perfectly combed, was mussed from sleep.

In his arms he held a ginger cat.

"Arlo..." Sam cooed softly, running his hand down Morse's back. "Soft Arlo..."

Arlo was the name of the rabbit the kids owned many years ago. Arlo died of old age, and while Joan was old enough to only shed a few tears for him, Sam was devestated, crying his heart out and wailing for hours. Thursday had no idea Sam still missed that ball of fluff.

Thursday and Morse locked eyes.

Sam was obviously too out of it to understand why his petting Morse was inappropriate. But why was Morse allowing this? These were _his_ rules.

"Arlo..." Sam said again, pulling Morse closer to himself. He sighed and leaned back, his eyes closing. After a second, soft snores could be heard.

This was first time Thursday has seen Sam rest without twitching in discomfort.

A touch of protest was still on Thursday's tongue, but he was too grateful to voice it. Without sleep, Sam was so quiet, it was like all life had been sucked out of him. Thursday really didn't want to force Sam under a medical coma. To finally see him sleep, to rest without misery, was much relief for him as it was for Thursday.

In response, Sam buried his face in Morse's fur, sighing in contentment.

Thursday nodded his thanks, and then stepped out of the room.


End file.
